


Let's Get Married

by downdeepinside



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Pointless, Romance, The Proclaimers, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg proposes to Mycroft four times; Mycroft only needs to propose once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Married

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for this ship so excuse bad characterisation. Also, it's plot is week and it's pretty much a pointless drabble but it made me feel cosy so I'm posting it.
> 
> This work is inspired by the song 'Lets get married' by The Proclaimers, featured in the musical 'Sunshine on Leith'.

 “Let’s get married.”

Mycroft licked a blob of cream cheese frosting off his index finger and raised an eyebrow, awarding Greg with a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm?”

Greg stared at the TV, waiting for the Fairy Liquid advert to finish before turning to stare straight at the aristocrat sat next to him. He sat up a little straighter and grinned, “You heard. Let’s get married.”

Mycroft continued to direct most of his focus at his (now empty) plate before snorting and placing it on the floor, turning towards the detective inspector a little more and shaking his head, “No.”

Lestrade blinked, turned back to the telly, and then stood up. He picked up Mycroft’s plate and his (empty) beer glass. He walked down the hall to the over-sized kitchen and flicked the tap on. Pipes gurgled and instantly hot water poured out.

Behind him he heard the pat of socked feet on the laminate kitchen flooring: Mycroft stood at the door for a second, clearly debating insisting Greg use the dishwasher for once, before walking to the table and pulling up a chair. Greg flicked off the tap and dropped a plate into the warm soapy bowl.

“You weren’t… serious? Were you?”

The last bits of cake and frosting slid off the plate and Greg loudly deposited it in the drying rack. He started on the beer glass and was picking up the mug from this morning’s coffee when Mycroft spoke again.

“You can’t just propose in front of the television, Gregory. That’s not fair.”

Two matching mugs found their way onto the drying rack and Greg dumped a handful of cutlery into the bowl before turning around, “It’s fine, My. I wasn’t serious. It’s nothing.”

Mycroft squinted at the inspector as if concentrating, “But,”

“I think I’m going to call it a night.” Greg wiped his hands on his trousers and bent over Mycroft, pecking a kiss on his cheek, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Greg fled the room and Mycroft ran a hand over his cheek, blinking away the dust left behind by his partner’s hasty retreat.

He frowned.

“Yeah.”

***

Two months later Greg arrived, unannounced, at the Diogenes Club. He walked in and silently but confidently strolled up to Mycroft. He plucked the newspaper out of the man’s hands and smiled before gesturing with his head at the door. Mycroft stood up slowly, hesitantly, and followed Greg outside, into his very own car, and then into his very own home.

The hallway was lit with candles, the lights dimmed, and rose petals covered the hardwood flooring.  Greg excitedly fidgeted on his feet and all of a sudden some terrible bouncy song by a loud Scottish man came on.  Mycroft closed his eyes and silently prayed it was all his imagination before opening them to find Greg down on one knee.

Mycroft’s internal scream was voiced by a small sigh.

“Greg, please don’t,”

“Mycroft, we’ve been… we’ve…. Ah,” Greg paused and pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket, “Going together too long to be vague, when there’s something to say, so, er,” here he squinted, clearly struggling to read the small print, “I’ll say it straight out, ‘cause I… well, oh balls.” He scrunched the paper with one hand and let it fall to the floor, “Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?”

Mycroft shook his head.

And turned.

And got back into the car outside.

***

The British government returned from a long day at work, dropping his briefcase besides the front door, pulling his coat off, and closing his eyes. He took a few deep breaths before saying a silent “fuck it” and falling the floor, his back resting on the door. Here, home alone, he needn’t keep up appearances. Today had been _awful_.

“Happy Birthday!”

Mycroft flinched as Greg Lestrade jumped out of the kitchen, a ridiculous long apron covering his flour covered clothes. Greg grinned at Mycroft before pausing; dusting his hands on his apron, and taking a few small steps towards the man slumped on the floor, “Are you alright?”

Mycroft pushed out a long breath and stared blankly at Greg, “You’ve made a cake?”

Greg nodded slowly, as if his answer might have some impact on the world as a whole but he isn’t quite sure what that impact might be,

“Are you going to propose again tonight?”

Greg’s shoulders dropped and he bit his cheek, “No,” he lied obviously.

Mycroft nodded and stood up, “I’m sorry.” He said before he left.

***

Ireland. Of all the places Mycroft pictured spending any of his Christmas dinners, from a prison cell to the fanciest restaurant in Paris, he had certainly never pictured a small pub in Ireland. And yet, here he was.

He stuck a fork into his potato and cheese mash, and smiled at his partner across the table, happily devouring a blood pudding accompanied by a little too much cider. Mycroft shoved the fork in his mouth indelicately and swallowed greedily before licking his lips, taking a small sip of wine. He glanced around the empty pub and declared, “This is perfect.”

Greg looked up from his plate and stared into Mycroft’s eyes before grinning, “God, you’re a right sop aren’t you?”

Mycroft bit a smile and looked back down, “You are too, you know.”

Greg laughed breezily and nodded, “Yeah,” he huffed, “I suppose.”

Mycroft hummed and carried on with his meal, finishing his wine but sticking to water after. As the two got up to leave Mycroft reached for his coat; Greg hiccupped and reached for it first, clutching it to his chest.

“Alright, I swear this is the last time.”

Mycroft tensed and lunged for his coat again, but Greg held it hostage.

“Please.”

The politician scowled and pulled back, hugging himself with his arms.

“Mycroft,” Greg looked up to the light bulb hanging from the ceiling and blew out a breath, “Marry me?”

“Greg,”

The silver fox jumped back, holding the coat in the air now and waving his arms around his head. “Why not? What did I do? We love each other, don’t we? We make each other happy: Why shouldn’t we get married?”

“It’s not that. It’s not that we shouldn’t just-”

“It’s just a piece of paper for fucks sakes! A silly little piece of paper!”

“If that’s all it is why do you want it so much?”

Mycroft grabbed for his coat successfully and pulled it on, “If marriage is just some silly piece of paper why do you need it so badly?”

Greg blinked, “It says I love you.”

“That’s it? You want some silly little piece of paper just because it says that you love me and I love you? Honestly?”

“Well,”

Mycroft hissed, snatching a paper napkin up from the table and scribbling on it before shoving it at Greg’s chest.

“There, there’s your stupid bit of paper. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a flight to arrange.”

***

One bumpy year and another Christmas later, the two stood side by side, their shoulders touching as they stared down at the London street below. Mycroft sighed a contented sigh and turned to watch Greg. The inspector pretended not to notice.

“Greg?”

Greg smiled and tilted his head in Mycroft’s direction, “Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

Greg obliged and blinked, before his small smile became a giant goofy grin, “Yes.”

Mycroft blinked, looking affronted, “I didn’t even-”

“I know,” Greg pulled his hand away from the railing and licked his top lip, “Yes.”

“But-”

“Yes.”

“Gre-”

“ _Yes_ , Mycroft. Yes you silly bastard.”

Mycroft looked away, a small smile shaking his lips, “Okay then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated.


End file.
